The Other Consulting Detective
by PondGirl11
Summary: What if Sherlock wasn't the only consulting detective in the world? They say brains runs in the family, and John is about to see a perfect example. When a young woman falls into 221b claiming to have been kidnapped, Sherlock, John and the Other Consulting Detective must solve the crime and save the day. Currently on hiatus.
1. The Holmes Sister

**OK, before you say **_**anything**_** after reading this, I know I'm obsessed with main characters having younger sisters! But I promise you, there is a valid reason. This idea just popped into my head after I'd written about Suzie in my Doctor Who story, The Oncoming Storm. I thought; 'What if Sherlock had a younger sister that was just as bonkers and brilliant as him, but also very troubled and, well, Sherlocklike. Wouldn't that be cool?' So here it is! And just to let you know, the words are all mine, but the first case was given to me by the Baker Street Irregulars. Don't worry, I asked nicely first **

John had never been one for sentimentality. In fact, that was why, he considered anyway, he had never been able to sustain a relationship for more than 10 months. Yes, that was his record. But compared to Sherlock Holmes, he compared himself to be practically saint-like. Never had he met a man so intelligent and yet so cold and isolated, and yet still manage to save so many lives. He would never have imagined him looking after someone, not even himself. But as always when it came to Sherlock Holmes, John was proved wrong. Again.

He was having a tough day. He had just completed a blog entry for the speckled blonde, and had stayed up all night finishing it. He had popped out to Speedy's to celebrate, and was now shuffling in to 221b, and with a friendly call to Mrs Hudson, walked slowly into his flat. He was greeted with a sight he never thought he would see.

A woman. A young woman. She didn't appear to have noticed John, with her eyes buried into her newspaper, she seemed absorbed and didn't look up when he came in. He could see her face, though. He studied her, intrigued. With, short, brown hair that had a slight wave to it, she seemed fairly short, no more than 5 feet John guessed, and he presumed her age at about 25. There was something familiar about her features, but what that was he wasn't quite sure. When she spoke he jumped, absorbed in her delicate cheekbones. Her tones were sultry and fairly deep, but not strangely so. More that she was well spoken and classy. Very classy. What she said wasn't particularly classy, though, and this juxtaposition took John by surprise.

'Milk, no sugar please, I'm watching my weight,' she purred, without glancing up from her newspaper. John shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, unsure of what to say. This sudden exclamation also made him realise that she must have heard him come in, and at this suggestion his cheeks flushed and he coughed, embarrassed. She looked up. 'Oh, sorry. You're not Mrs Hudson?' She said almost quizzically.

'Uh, no, not since last time I checked,' John muttered awkwardly, before he realise that her utterance was a declarative, not a question.

'I just came up. I thought this was Sherlock's flat.'

'Oh, it is, I'm just his flatmate, Dr John Watson. Hi, nice to meet you, and you are?...' He held out his hand. She stared at it for a few moments, before he let it drop limply to his side. She appeared to relax a little though, and folded up her newspaper and stood up, and proceeded to circle John, sometimes coming near, sometimes keeping her distance. It was obvious she was trying to make him at ease, but unfortunately this did not have the desired effect with poor John. Again, this lack of social understanding was somewhat familiar, but he pushed the thought out of his head. There were more dire and important things to focus on now than to take a stroll down memory lane. He hunched up his shoulders in panic, not sure how to react. She spoke again, this time louder and more confident.

'I'd ask you if Sherlock's told you about me, but I should think that the answer's probably no. He does like to protect me, you see. You wouldn't think it would you? Is that why you look so surprised?'

Oops, he looked surprised, did he? Quick hide the emotion, the similarities between this woman and… someone were overwhelming. Fortunately, the mysterious young woman put him out of his misery.

'You don't recognise me? Well then, I shall introduce myself to you.' She smiled. 'My name is Cassia Holmes. I'm Sherlock's baby sister.'

And _that_ was when John realised who she was similar to.

_20 minutes later_

Just after John realised why Cassia was so familiar, her older brother walked in. He was furious of course, but after Cassia explained her predicament; her brain was practically rotting she had so little to do, and needed a case to help her brother with; he relaxed and introduced her properly to John. He learned that his guess of her age was bang on, which meant there was quite an age gap between her and Sherlock, and an even larger one with Mycroft. They all chatted happily for a while, mainly consisting of Sherlock and Cassia arguing about tobacco ash. John was quite happy to watch them, he realised just how similar they were and figured they got on very well, better than either of them got on with Mycroft he imagined. However, their playful talk was interrupted when a young woman practically fell through the door, causing them all to look up in shock. She seemed to be in deep shock; she was shaking and breathing quickly, suggesting she had just run a long way. Cassia was the first to react; she jumped up from her seat and gently guided the shaken woman, who looked about a year older than the Holmes sister, to a chair, before John could even stand up. This struck him as being different to Sherlock, indeed he was still in his chair, looking more alert than John imagined he himself looked, but in no position, it seemed, to assist the woman. Maybe Cassia was just that bit more compassionate than her ice-hearted brother.

Sherlock spoke briskly to the woman, not even bothering to comfort her. Cassia kept her arm round her; it seemed to hold her together. 'Who are you, where did you come from, and why are you here? Start from the beginning; don't be boring.' The woman looked stunned, and Cassia gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and, unsmiling, nodded at her to begin.

'H-hello, my name's Sophie, I just ran away because-because…' she broke down into floods of tears, and Cassia shushed her and gestured for her to continue. Sophie composed herself and began again. 'I've just been kidnapped. I mean I have no idea why anyone would want to kidnap me, I'm just a very uninteresting chambermaid in a hotel, I'm nothing special, I've done nothing with my life, I have nothing of any use or anything of great value, what could they possibly want from me?'

Sherlock nodded, absolutely no compassion showing on his cold, sharp features. 'I can instantly deduce that you yourself have absolutely no value whatsoever, I mean you're right, look at you, no use whatsoever, but you're wrong about one thing, Sophie. You _must_ have something that the kidnappers want. It is very rare that they would take you just on a whim. There has _got_ to be reason, and it must be something in your possession. Is there _anything_ that you might have that they could possibly want? _Anything_ that would persuade me right now that you are, in fact, useful? Because now all you're convincing me of is that my sister here puts her confidence in the wrong people. Why are you comforting her, Cassia, when she's just as useful as you are? Which isn't much, by the way.'

John was flabbergasted by this sudden outburst, Sophie looked hurt and shocked, and Cassia just had this awful sort of blank look on her face, as if she didn't want to acknowledge what he was saying. Either that or she was so used to it by now that she had learned to shut it out. Surprisingly, it was Sophie who was the first to speak after this uneasy silence.

'Honestly, I can't think of anything I might have that they want. But… Sorry, what was your name again?'

Cassia spoke up; her face a lot brighter than it had been only moments before. 'I'm Cassia Holmes, this is my brother Sherlock and this is Dr John Watson, Sherlock's flatmate.' The two men nodded at Sophie respectively, and she settled back into the chair, looking considerably more relaxed than when she had first arrived not two minutes ago. Cassia spoke gently, egging her on to continue. She did so graciously. John couldn't help wondering that Sophie was actually older than Cassia. Physically, she certainly looked it, but knowing Sherlock he supposed that Sophie's intellect was no match for Cassia's, if her brother was anything to go by. Also, at that precise moment Cassia certainly seemed older, in her manner, definitely. Sophie was obviously much shaken, and Cassia tended to her in ways that neither John nor Sherlock, would have done. Her instincts seemed almost maternal. But then, John thought, maybe it was simply because she was female. Or it could have been looking after her two older brothers all her life and he shivered at the prospect. He would never understand the mind of a woman. Or Sherlock's for that matter. Sophie's sweet voice shook him from his daydream, and he then realised just how attractive she was.

'I moved here from Germany a couple of years ago. I brought barely anything with me, and all my possessions have more or less been bought here in London where I have lived ever since. So you see Mr Holmes, I cannot possibly have anything of great value.'

Sherlock glanced at John to seek his perception on the whole thing. He was looking rather odd, even more than usual, in Sherlock's mind. He was gazing quite dreamily at Sophie, and with a groan Sherlock resigned himself to the fact that John obviously liked Sophie. Normally Sherlock knew that it would be over in two months, but now he wasn't so sure. He even detected a hint of _jealousy_ in the corner of his overused, emotionally empty brain. He didn't like it one bit.

When they all separated off to do tedious jobs (Cassia made tea, John went out to the shops to get milk and Sherlock went into his room to think) they made the mistake of not keeping an eye on Sophie. Sherlock walked back into the room a couple of minutes later and with a jolt realised that she was gone.

'John, Cassia!' he hollered, and they both came running quickly, finished with their small tasks. In all his jealousy, Sherlock claimed that she must have wandered off, but John was insistent that the kidnappers had finally got her. Without another word, John grabbed his coat and furiously stormed out of 221b to look for her, leaving Sherlock and Cassia standing there looking shocked.

_2 weeks later_

John had been looking for Sophie for a fortnight. He had been to the police, even had Lestrade on Sophie's case. But every night he would walk in with the same resigned expression, and shuffled off to bed. Cassia had taken to sleeping on the sofa; it turned out that she was somewhat of an insomniac and would often wake restlessly in the night and wander round the flat looking for things to do, and did not wish to wake her two flatmates. It seemed obvious to John that she was going to be staying for a while, and if he was perfectly honest, he didn't mind that one bit. He rather liked her wit and wisdom, and her ability to out-talk Sherlock and turn any situation into calm and organised one. Everyone just seemed to relax around her, and John admired that.


	2. The Search For Sophie Continues

**So this will be a crazily short update :L sorry guys. I accidentally kind've killed my laptop and don't have the right programmes to update so I don't wanna write too much in case everything goes wrong.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or all the characters in it, all rights go to the BBC. I also do not own Sophie (but I came up with the name) or the first case, both were given to me by the Baker Street Irregulars.**

Sherlock was beginning to realise that he just ticked differently from John. But he also realised that he would never lose him as a friend. If John was searching for weeks for a girl he had known for less than an hour, then he would probably do the same for Sherlock. But still, he was terribly afraid of losing his only friend. It took him a long time to realise that maybe he was. John was obviously angry at Sherlock for not taking Sophie's situation seriously. When Sherlock deduced all this, he decided to do what he did best. He started to investigate.

Sherlock sat at the desk, and stared at the laptop with an expression that was almost unreadable. Cassia peered over his shoulder noseily, and inquired as to what exactly he was doing. Sherlock replied that he had found out some rather interesting information about Sophie that she may want to take a look at.

'Bavarian?' Cassia inquired. 'Interesting, looks as though her family has been working as servants for generations.'

'The story goes that her great-great-great something aunt was the Chambermaid to Elisabeth of Bavaria, who later became Empress Elisabeth of Austria,' Sherlock continued.

'So not so uninteresting after all,' Cassia noted.

'The story goes that Elisabeth had gotten a gift from her cousin King Ludwig II from Bavaria, and that it was 'The King's Heart'. When that turned out to be a 'childish book', Elisabeth gave the 'stupid gift' to her chambermaid,' Sherlock explained. 'I think that whoever kidnapped Sophie must think that she inherited the gift and that it should be something of more value than a children's book.

Cassia looked impressed but unsurprised at her brother, before leaping into action. 'Great, I'll go and tell John.' It turned out that John had in fact found a lead as to where Sophie might be, and had gone out some time ago, leaving a message to notify the two consulting detectives that he shared a flat with. The note did not specify what the lead was, however, which infuriated and frustrated the siblings, predictably, Sherlock more so than Cassia. To ease his aching brain, Sherlock decided to take Cassia to Sophie's rooms in the hotel where she lived.

Walking inside the basic quarters, Cassia immediately set eyes on a tattered old book on a small table next to the bed. It was indeed an old German children's book, and inscribed on the inside cover was ' Never judge a book by its cover.' In a flurry of excitement, Cassia showed her brother, and they both immediately departed for Baker Street.

When they got back, John had still not returned. The siblings thought nothing of it. Presuming he was still tracing Sophie, they took themselves off to bed.

John glanced around suspiciously, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He had found a map that Sophie had left in the flat without him knowing, pointing out the destination she knew she would be taken if she was kidnapped again. If the poor, long-suffering ex-soldier admitted it to himself, he had absolutely no idea where he was. He peered in front of him, but still he could see nothing. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that they had probably moved on. After all, it was weeks ago that Sophie was kidnapped again. He began to trudge back to the road, feeling his way around, fumbling in his pocket for cash for a taxi.

Suddenly, a hand clamped around his mouth and pressed to his face some sort of cloth. John's eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed onto the floor.

**Mwahahaha cliffhanger! I know you hate me for it, but I just had to put that in! Sorry ;) xxx PondGirl11**


	3. The King's Heart

**I know this isn't normal The Other Consulting Detective updating time, but my crazy friend hasn't sent me the next part of our crossover The Doctor Consults With Wizards yet, so I thought I'd just move on to this. Btw, went to Speedy's and where they film it and everything on Saturday. :O As you can imagine, I fangirled just a little and found it very hard to take in. Also, I went to the real 221b Baker Street, and there's a really good museum there if you're interested **

Sherlock and Cassia Holmes strode elegantly out of 221b Baker Street, calling a hasty goodbye to Mrs Hudson as they did so. When they had both awoken, John had still not returned, which made them anxious. Normally he would have called to let them know or at least got back late at night. But the fact that his bed still hadn't been slept in worried them both. So Sherlock had come up with the idea that they become a little charitable in order to find out what they wanted…

Walking down the busy London Streets, one probably wouldn't have realised that the two were related, not unless you spoke to them. Cassia was very petite and had short, wavy brown hair. Sherlock was tall and had dark brown curly hair. But their features were fairly recognisable, as you could see a little of the other in both of their eyes. In fairness, they looked much more similar than either of them did to Mycroft, and this was probably partly to do with the huge age gap between particularly Cassia and Mycroft, in fact it was some 21 years. But in conversation, all three were very similar. They were all very eloquent and well spoken, and quite cold-hearted. But there were definitely some similarities. For instance, Mycroft was extremely formal and it was obvious that he solemnly disapproved of his siblings' lifestyle. Sherlock was very oblivious to people's feelings, but he still managed to have a good chuckle with Cassia and John sometimes. And Cassia, the youngest, was very kind when it came to making people feel more relaxed and comforted, but not many other times. She seemed to get quite anxious when there were lots of people, and sometimes had violent panic attacks at night when she thought no-one could hear her. But her flatmates could. John had occasionally attempted to calm her down and hold her while she fell asleep, but it was only her brother that she really trusted, that she knew would never hurt her, even though sometimes, with his heart of stone, he unwittingly did. John had come to realise that Cassia was a very troubled young woman that simply needed kindness. That and a decent case. In fact, if Sophie wasn't in trouble and John hadn't felt attracted immediately towards her, he would wonder whether or not he was falling in love with Cassia.

When they finally reached where they were headed, The two Holmes' leant against a wall for a quick rest before heading up the small concrete hill where they found a young, shabby woman who gave a quick nod of greeting to Cassia, to which she returned the same gesture, and immediately recognised Sherlock. He handed her a piece of paper and a crumpled bank note. She took it eagerly and ran off, and Cassia looked at her brother quizzically.

'So, what now?' she inquired.

'Well, first we have to go on a short walk. Clears the lungs, I think,' he replied with a wink.

Cassia looked at her brother knowingly, and followed him as he hastily followed the woman. When they eventually reached a disused railway station, the woman returned with a young lad with dirt on his face.

'This 'ere is Charl'on, he'w show you tha' why,' the woman lisped.

With a nod of thanks, Sherlock and Cassia followed the young lad to an old warehouse that evidently hadn't been used in years. Sherlock gave the boy a toffee and he sped off.

Anxiously, the siblings entered the old shelter. They peeked around the door and flattened themselves against it when they heard voices coming from inside. There were quite a few. Sherlock, in his statistical mode, counted John's, Sophie's, and nine more. Their two friends were obviously being interrogated, Sophie was crying, John was pleading and the other nine voices were shouting threats, demands and questions. Sherlock couldn't take it anymore and ran in, Cassia right on his tail. Sherlock pleaded with them to stop hurting John.

'I have it here! I have the book here! Don't touch them again!' he bellowed in his smooth, dulcet tones, and Cassia felt quite proud of his bravery. She didn't trust herself to even whisper, she was feeling very anxious in the dark of the warehouse, there were no lights and all these people who she felt sure were evil. Then she had an idea of how to make herself useful. The police station was very close…

'We ain't interested in the darn book you fool, we just want the King's Heart!' one of the interrogators snorted. Sherlock frowned at his being called a fool, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Cassia dash out of the room looking purposeful, and he smiled, guessing of her plan, glad that the captors were standing in the dark part of the room and so couldn't see her.

'Well, you are stupid then aren't you? Well you're a not very good kidnapper that's for sure! Did you really think that staying in the same place for two weeks meant that you would never be found? And kidnapping someone twice and taking her to the _same place?_ Well that was never going to work. You see she left us a few clues, knew where you'd take her. And you didn't even think about that did you? Well I never thought I'd say this but… You're Mr Thick Thickity Thick from Thicktown, Thickania. And so's your dad!'

At this outburst the kidnappers just looked gobsmacked, but the plan worked like a dream, and the real reason for Sherlock's little speech (to distract them) was revealed when Lestrade, flanked by two officers and a proud-looking Cassia, strode in, handcuffing all the villains present. One of the officers, Cassia and Sherlock helped to undo the knots tying Sophie and John to chairs, and helped them out to a waiting police car. Cassia negotiated with Lestrade and he allowed the questioning be put off until the next day, as both witnesses were much shaken. The relieved party all bundled into cars and set off for Baker Street.

As soon as they arrived in the flat, however, the case continued. Sherlock explained what he had deduced.

'Well you see this book's got a great big secret, a secret nobody knew about, well, not until now that is,' he explained.

'But that's just a book I brought from home out of sentiment!' Sophie cried.

'Well that's just the thing' Sherlock sighed impatiently –why weren't any of them, except Cassia, getting it? - 'you didn't even know the value yourself.' He turned the book over in his hands. 'Within the back cover is a weight, old books have that a lot, but in this case it is a stone out of the old Bavarian Crown Jewels that went missing ever since Ludwig gave the book to Elisabeth. The stone is called 'The Heart of Bavaria'. I realised straight away that it must be something inside the book that was of value because of the inscription 'Don't judge a book by its cover'. I checked all the pages and the back felt heavier than normal. I ran some scans at the lab and discovered this.'

'Well it needs to be returned to its rightful owners,' Sophie insisted, and Sherlock nodded.

'I've already thought of that,' he reached into his pocket and withdrew two tickets. 'Plane tickets to Bavaria. One for you John and one for Sophie.'

John looked shocked. 'Really, Sherlock? That's, I mean… wow, thanks!' He had never known Sherlock to be so kind. Well, there's a first time for everything.

'Yes, I mean it. Have a good time, John,' Sherlock smiled, and John was lost for words.

_A few hours later_

After everyone had gone and Cassia was snoozing on the sofa by the fire, Sherlock beckoned to John with a sly grin.

'Come on, I've got one more surprise for you,' he smiled, and John eagerly followed. Sherlock took his arm and led him downstairs to 221c. John's eyes widened in surprise. The flat was completely renovated. The damp had gone and it was full of homely furniture. John, speechless, turned to Sherlock, his eyes demanding an explanation.

Sherlock smiled painfully. 'I think it's time we both have our own quarters.'

John finally found the words to tell him how he felt. 'Isn't it a bit too big for one on his own?'

Sherlock turned to him with a glint of cunning in his piercing eyes. 'I have the feeling you won't be alone for long.'

**So that's it! Case one, done and dusted. I'll keep you posted, but next up is the Reichenbach Fall-the updated version! I.e., with Cassia. See ya then!**


	4. The Reichenbach Fall Part 1

'Why today?'

'Do you wanna hear me say it?' Cassia choked.

'18 months since our last appointment,' Ella explained. 'You were almost better. You were coping. You were _sleeping. _Has that changed?'

'You read the papers,' Cassia presumed.

'Sometimes.'

'And you watch telly?' There was a long pause. 'You know why I'm here. I'm here because…' She trailed off, tears beginning to form in her usually emotionless eyes. John squeezed her hand comfortingly, and she held on to him like a support.

'What happened, Cassia?' Ella continued, pausing only to glance up and notice John's raised eyebrows and shaking of his head. He had recommended his counsellor to Cassia, although now he was beginning to feel that wasn't such a great idea. He wasn't sure she was ready to talk about it yet.

Cassia attempted to say it. 'Sher-' she stammered.

Ella leaned forward, desperate to make her patient talk. 'You need to get it out.'

Cassia nodded, and she felt the weight of two sets of eyes on her. 'My brother, Sherlock Holmes, is dead.'

_Three months earlier_

'Falls of the Reichenbach, Turner's masterpiece,' the triumphant reporter bellowed. 'Thankfully recovered owing to the prestigious talent of Mr Sherlock Holmes, and his equally talented sister Cassia. And of course, who are we to forget Dr. John Watson?' Applause rained out. John smiled at the eager cameras, whereas Cassia and Sherlock merely looked bemused by the attention. The small man walked over to them. 'A small token of our gratitude.'

Sherlock glanced at the small package. 'Diamond cuffs. All my cuffs have buttons.'

The man passed a larger package to Cassia. She too glanced at it once. 'Already got it. You can tell by the binding.'

Finally the man came to John and passed him an even larger package. 'Thankyou,' he beamed, before giving a pointed look at the siblings to his left. 'They mean thankyou,' he indicated to them. The reporter looked uncomfortable.

'Do I,' Cassia inquired, and Sherlock just looked tired.

'Just say it,' insisted John.

'Thankyou,' they chorused, looking in the general direction of the now shaking reporter, with no expression of thanks on their bored faces. Sherlock made to move forward, and Cassia got ready to follow him, but John pulled them back. Cameras began to flash in their faces.

_Two weeks later_

'Back together with my family, after my terrifying ordeal. And we have three people to thank for my deliverance. The Holmes', and Dr. John Watson.'

Cassia leaned towards Sherlock and whispered 'I wish they'd refer to us separately. We're not the bloody same person.' Sherlock grinned.


	5. The Reichenbach Fall Part 2

The papers couldn't get enough of the Holmes'. Or John, as a matter of fact. They lapped up every single case they solved or crime they uncovered, and always with some cheesy headline that made all three flatmates want to vomit. They were becoming so popular online that John's blog exploded and he cheerfully reminded Sherlock that not so long ago he had been scorning John's little occupation. 'This is your living, Sherlock!' John would constantly remind him, to which Sherlock would shrug and leave to discuss the important matter of sleeping arrangements with Cassia. John had moved into 221c that Sherlock had made out for him after the case with Sophie, but so far John hadn't managed to find the suitable second occupant that Sherlock's motives for doing up the flat included. (Or rather, bribing Cassia to clean and furnish the flat with promises that she could stay in 221b for as long as she liked. He called it bribery, she called it blackmail.) Of course John had repeatedly approached Cassia about sharing with him, but she, like her brother, appeared to be completely asexual and refused to indulge in that possibility now she had her own bed upstairs.

'Peter Ricoletti,' Lestrade announced in his usual tired, monotonous, bored sounding idiolect. 'Number 1 on Interpol's most wanted list since 1982. But we got him,' he paused to allow the murmurs of admiration and approval ripple around the room. 'And there's one person we have to thank for giving us all the decisive leads, with all his customary diplomacy and tact.'

'Sarcasm,' John noted.

'Yes,' Sherlock observed.

'What about me?' Cassia grumbled. The crowd applauded enthusiastically, with some evident fans even wolf-whistling the young Holmes sister.

'We all chipped in,' Lestrade grinned. Sherlock opened the small package Lestrade handed him. It was wrapped in sparkly blue stars wrapping paper. Sherlock frowned at Lestrade in disapproval, to which Lestrade giggled childishly at. Out of the corner of her eye Cassia could see Donovan and Anderson trying hard to conceal their laughter, and she frowned suspiciously.

The crowd laughed as Sherlock pulled out a deerstalker to which one annoying fan yelled; 'Put the hat on!'

Sherlock pretended to look surprised. 'Oh!'

Even Cassia found it hard to hide her giggles as the crowd began to call out. Lestrade made matters worse by exclaiming 'Yeah, Sherlock, put it on.'

John coughed. 'Just get it over with.' Sherlock unceremoniously dumped the offending wrapping paper into John's arms and angrily stuffed the hat onto his head. The crowd began applauding, and John allowed himself a small smile as cameras began flashing earnestly. Sherlock smiled unenthusiastically at the now jeering Donovan and Anderson. Cassia shot them a steely glare and they instantly became silent. Sherlock smiled, the grin reaching his eyes this time. His younger sister's uncanny ability to become suddenly very stern amused him greatly. He wished he could learn how to do that.

This time the papers had come up with a name. 'Boffin? Boffin Sherlock Homes,' he spat the name out like it was vomit.

'Everybody gets one,' Cassia offered.

'One what?' Sherlock growled irritably.

'Tabloid nickname. I'm 'The other consulting detective,' Cassia Holmes. Who the hell are they kidding? _The other. _That's just plain rude, that is,' Cassia complained.

'SuBo. Nasty Nick. Shouldn't worry, I'll get one soon,' John comforted.

'Page 5, column 6, 1st sentence,' Sherlock sighed. Cassia grinned and watched John's face, anticipating a hilarious reaction.

'Why is it always the hat photographs,' Sherlock was still moaning, punching the offending item vigorously. It was quite amusing, especially since he was in a formal suit.

John, however, had reached page 5, and Cassia got the reaction she was hoping for.

'Bachelor John Watson,' John screwed up his face in disgust.

Sherlock continued with his little rant. 'What kind of hat is it anyway?'

'Bachelor,' John grumbled. 'What the hell are they implying?'

'Well…' Cassia sniggered.

John gave her a fearsome glare. 'Rhetorical Cassia, rhetorical.'

'Is it a cap?' Sherlock whined. 'Why has it got two fronts?'

'It's a deerstalker,' Cassia offered, ignoring John's indignant glare.

'…frequently seen in the company of Bachelor John Watson.'

'How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What am I going to do, throw it?'

'Confirmed Bachelor John Watson.'

'Is it like some sort of death Frisbee?'

'Probably,' Cassia interrupted their little individual rants.

'Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful,' John realised.

'Is that about now or is that a metaphor for your whole relationship?' Cassia wondered.

Sherlock, however, hadn't quite finished yet, and missed his younger sister's snide comment. 'It's got flaps. Ear flaps, it's an ear hat, John. What do you mean, more careful?' he said, as if suddenly entering the conversation, which in a way, he was.

'Well this isn't a deerstalker anymore; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat,' Cassia sighed. 'Do you think I could start my own range of knitwear?'

'What she means is,' said John warily, glancing at Cassia with an expression that could have been confusion or amusement, 'you're not exactly a private detective anymore. You're this far from famous.'

'Uh oh, the finger gap is very small, we must be in trouble,' Cassia muttered sarcastically.

Sherlock ignored his sibling's grumbling. 'Oh, it'll pass,' he murmured uninterestedly.

This time it was Cassia's turn to get annoyed. 'It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn. And they'll turn on you. Not me or John, because apparently we haven't got the talents of a psychopath,' glaring at Sherlock's affronted look, she added 'sorry, _high functioning sociopath_. Whatever you say, genius big brother.' And with that she stormed out of the room. Sherlock didn't even bother to look at her as she made her exit, and John watched him very seriously, looking for any sign of remorse. But his hopes were defeated, and Sherlock became the heartless creature he always was again, he sighed and shrugged and continued to stare out of the window.

There was a long pause. 'It really bothers you,' Sherlock finally said.

'What?' John was flustered; he was beginning to think that Sherlock's silence was permanent and had taken to reading the paper again.

'What people say,' Sherlock elaborated, an amused smile tugging on his lips.

John thought for a moment before he answered, he didn't want to make Sherlock's head any bigger than it already was. 'Yes,' he answered finally.

'About me. I don't understand. Why would it upset you?' Sherlock was being socially awkward again.

John didn't answer; he just stared at Sherlock incredulously. 'Just try to keep a low profile,' he said, deliberately avoiding the question. 'Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news.' He pulled the paper up to his face again and began to read, effectively ending the conversation.

_Tower of London 11:00_

It was just an average day in one of the most famous landmarks in London. The old guard stood wearily at his post, smiling for photographs but all the while wishing he was somewhere else. The crowds were busy and bustling as usual, so no-one saw the solitary figure, dressed in an ordinary jacket and ordinary jeans, with a cheap, tacky Union Jack flag cap on his ordinary head. No-one saw him stop in the centre of the square, take out his phone, raise it high, and take pictures of the various guards patrolling the area. Because James Moriarty was a spider. He was used to blending into crowds.

_221b Baker Street_

'That's your phone.'

'Mmm, keeps doing that.'

Cassia scowled, still fuming at her infuriating older brother.

John was reading the newspaper on the sofa. 'So did you just talk to him for a really long time?'

Sherlock glanced up briefly from his microscope to look at the dummy hanging by its neck in the doorframe. 'Oh. Henry Fishguard never committed suicide. Bow Street Runners missed everything!'

'Pressing case, is it?' Cassia asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sherlock was immune to her teasing. 'They're all pressing till they're solved.'

_Tower of London_

The many crowds of people streaming through the gate at the landmark were no match for Lindsey. She had to deal with them all day, every day, so she was used to the drill by now. She thought about that inviting hot bath back at her flat. Perhaps her boyfriend would have cooked her dinner. He'd better have. 'Put your key in there, please,' she drawled, her mind on everything except her mundane, 9 to 5 job. When the gate beeped she barely glanced up.

'Excuse me, sir,' Ky, the security guard on her left, said to the ordinary man with the Union Jack cap. Lindsey looked at the man. He looked rather dishy. She would ask him for his number, if she wasn't planning on asking for Ky's, and if she was single. She ignored him.


	6. The Reichenbach Fall Part 3

'Any metal objects? Keys, mobile phones?' Ky drawled. The man with the cap cringed apologetically and walked back through the arch. He grinned and handed over a mobile, which Ky then placed in the plastic box in front of him. 'You can go through.'

'Thank you,' the man with the cap said, in a way that made Lindsey nervous.

James Moriarty stood in front of the crown jewels. The tourists around him gasped in awe at the truly beautiful spectacle in front of them. He just stared. He pulled a pair of black earphones from inside his jacket pocket, and placed them unceremoniously in his ears, leaning forward as he did so. He cricked his neck in an altogether disgusting manner, first one way, then the other, still chewing his gum, and then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and pressed play. The sweet sound of classical music filled his ears. He rolled his head around on his shoulders as though trying it on for size, and grinned in a way that if anyone had been paying attention to him, they would think he was a little odd. He reached his arms out beside him as if taking in the scene in front of him.

The security guard sighed, watching the crazy guy on the screen. He had had enough of mutters like this. He turned to his work colleague. 'Fancy a cuppa, then, mate?'

'Yeah, why not,' his friend replied, his tired head in his dirty hands.

'Gilts at seven. Dutch Telecoms in free fall,' the upper class, Eton and Oxford-educated banker drawled. 'Thank you, Harvey,' he acknowledged the tea boy, dressed only just slightly less formal than he himself was.


	7. The Reichenbach Fall Part 4

_Pentonville Prison 11:00_

'What do you say? Refuse them all parole and bring back the rope?' the old governor chuckled. 'Let's begin.'

Meanwhile, back at the Tower of London, James Moriarty was still embracing an imaginary polar bear three times his size, grinning as he did so. Licking his lips eagerly, he turned back to his phone and pressed a button with a picture of a crown. The code buzzed away, and suddenly, in the surveillance office, something terrible began to happen. An alarm began to bleep and the screens started to fizzle and die out. An automated voice announced, 'This is an emergency. Please leave…' People then started to file out in a panic. A security guard interrupted Jim's train of thought, and he paid the price.

'Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.' Jim angrily sprayed pepper spray into the unfortunate man's mouth, and he collapsed, unconscious. Jim smoothed his hair back, the music still blaring in his ears, and turned to face the crown jewels, a nasty smile playing on his lips. Back in the surveillance room, the coffee man had arrived, and, seeing what was happening, hastily dropped the cup and picked up the phone in a panic.

Sergeant Donovan's high-heeled feet were hasty on the carpeted floor of Scotland Yard, and she announced breathlessly to Lestrade, 'Sir, there's been a break-in.'

'Not our division,' Lestrade grumbled a doughnut and coffee in his hands.

Donovan smiled sarcastically. 'You'll want it.'


End file.
